


With Your Back Against a Wall

by CitrusVanille



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered what it feels like to have your back against a stone wall?</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Your Back Against a Wall

Have you ever wondered what a stone wall feels like? It’s hard, very hard, and cold. There are stones in it, obviously, but they’re not _really_ smoothed together, so the edges stick into you in the most awkward places… Do you know how much it hurts to have a rock pressed into the small of your back? Or in that place that’s not _quite_ in the middle of your shoulder blades, but almost? All in all, it’s most uncomfortable. In case you were wondering.

I myself never thought much about walls at all, much less what one feels like. That is… until a few seconds ago when I found myself rather unceremoniously slammed against this one. It’s not a happy situation. I wouldn’t recommend it. Especially when the someone who put you there has got his hands around your throat and is glaring venomously at you with the most murderous eyes ever seen through.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

Hi, Sirius here! Sirius Black, the guy backed into the wall. If you already know me, feel free to skip the introduction. For those of you who don’t know me, I want this to be love at first sight. I’m tall, dark, and handsome. No, really, I am. I’m about five-eleven, or I was last time I was measured, which was quite a while ago – I’m sure I’ve broken six feet by now. I have black hair, which I’ve let grow out lately, so it’s nearly to my shoulders now. My eyes are grey. I still have my tan from last summer, which turned out quite nicely… both the tan and the summer, actually.

I’m sixteen, going on seventeen (and if you start singing, I will have to compromise this “love at first sight” thing by killing you horribly), so, naturally, I’m on top of the world. Only… I’m not, at the moment, since the life is slowly being throttled out of me. But we’re getting to that. Back to the wonderful thing that is me.

I’m a wizard, born and bred. Properly bred, to boot. I’ve got the license on my collar and everything, proclaiming me a purebred, and a pureblood. Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, to be exact (hey, that kind of rhymes!). I’m not joking about the collar, either, though I don’t actually wear it. My friends thought it would be a funny joke to get me a collar when they discovered that I turned into a dog. Because, yes, I’m a full-fledged animagus! Aren’t you proud of me? I know I am. And it was all to help my friend. Aren’t I kind? And thoughtful? And loyal? (Yes, yes, make your dog jokes, I’ve heard them all anyway.)

Well, actually, that’s where this story starts. The story of me being killed with my back against a wall, I mean. I suppose I could go back even farther, but where this really begins is when I confronted my friend about being a werewolf. Please, don’t panic, he’s really the nicest guy you’ll ever meet… except, of course, when he’s trying to kill you, but, really, it’s not his fault.

You see, when I started at this school (I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, did I tell you?), I made three great friends: James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin – the werewolf. Now, during second year, James, Peter, and I figured out that Remus wasn’t running off home to see his sick mother every month. No, he was going all fanged and furry and tearing things to shreds. Well, naturally, we figured we had to tell him we knew, and, somehow, I got saddled with the job. He didn’t take it too well, but I finally convinced him we weren’t going to run him out of the dorm with pitchforks. After that, the three of us (not Remus, of course) decided to become animagi. Werewolves, as I’m sure you know, are only dangerous to humans, so we figured if we were animals, we could keep him company. It also sounded like fun, but that’s beside the point.

The process wasn’t all guns and roses… well, maybe a few guns, and some _really_ prickly roses, but, mostly, it was just tough as old shoes… er… that’s the dog in me coming through. Sorry. Anyway, we finally got it right during our fifth year (that’d be last year, to those of you trying to do the math). James turned into a stag, Pete turned into a rat, and I turned into a dog. Rem was thrilled to tears. I mean it, the boy actually cried. Well, first he was angry as blazes, saying we’d all be sent to Azkaban for illegal activities, but after he got over _that_ , he broke down crying, saying we were the best friends he could ever have dreamed of, and he didn’t deserve us. Best friends he could ever have, that’s us.

Well, things went swimmingly for about a year. We were sailing along through full moons having a blast. But then we hit an iceberg. And it was like in that story, you know the one I’m talking about. Where they could only see the tip, but under the water it was really big, and it sank that huge ship and all those people died. That one. Yeah. We hit that iceberg. And let me tell you, sinking is not fun.

See, there’s this kid in our year at school who’s a complete… well, we don’t like him very much, let’s put it that way. He doesn’t like us either, so it’s not like we’re picking on him or anything. He’s just as nasty to us as we are to him, so we’re really totally justified it making him look like the, er, fool he is every chance we get. Really. Completely justified. And this, er, feud between this… person and our group of friends (we call ourselves the Marauders, how cool is that?) has been going on for years.

Well, a few days ago this… person… said some very unforgivable things about my friend Remus while in my presence, and I, naturally, was not happy about this. So I, as should be expected, told him he could ‘stuff it were the sun don’t shine.’ That’s an exact quote. Well, he wasn’t fond of that remark, and made a few more of his own, and I, though justifiably angry, did something I should _not_ have done. I repeat, I should _not_ have done this, and I realize that now, and, as my life flashes before my eyes, I fully understand that _I should not have done it_. I am very, very, _very_ sorry.

I told this… person… how to find out where my friend Remus went every full moon. _Not good_.

Luckily (I suppose), James saved the… person.

However, Remus discovered what I did as soon as he woke up after returning to his less-fanged-and-furry state. I kept out of his way while he recovered, as any sane person would do, I think. It’s not smart to tangle with angry werewolves. You never know what might happen.

And I couldn’t bear to face him. You see, I left out a minor part while telling my tale (tale, tail, I get it, haha, very funny, can we move on?). You see, this minor part (very minor, honestly! I swear! I solemnly swear!) has to do with my dear werewolf friend and myself. Though more myself, since Remus has no idea.

I love him.

Really. Not as a friend. Well, yes, I do love him as a friend, but also… also… also as more than a friend. I mean, I’m _in_ love with him. I’ve been in love with him since, wow, I can’t even remember. At least since second year. That’s why I wanted to do something like turning into animagi so we could help him. I _had_ to do _something_ to help.

So, I guess it’s not really such a minor part after all, is it?

But enough of that. Nothing will ever come of it, because I’m about to die.

You see, I heard Remus had recovered, and decided to face my fears and meet him at the hospital wing to tell him how incredibly sorry I was… am… but, um, it didn’t quite work out as I’d planned.

See, about halfway to the hospital wing, something hit me.

It was a fist, by the way, in case you were imagining something more glorious, like a brilliant plan of some sort. I meant the “something hit me” very literally.

Well, naturally, I wasn’t thrilled to be hit, so I turned around, and who should be standing angrily behind me, but my dear Remus. He didn’t look quite as happy to see me as I would have liked. To put it lightly. To express his gratitude for my error of a few days previously, he hit me again. Several times, actually, and you _know_ I couldn’t possibly bring myself to hit him back, not seriously, anyway (don’t even say it, I HATE puns on my name). We roughhouse, sometimes, but never with any intent to hurt, and this time, he _definitely_ intended to hurt me. I tried to hold him off, but it wasn’t helping much. Then he launched himself at me, slamming me into the wall, hands closing around my neck, and here we are now.

Do you feel up to speed?

So here we sit, and I find myself wondering a few things. The first and, given the circumstances, least important, is what it feels like to have your back against a wall. The second is _why did I do something so utterly beyond stupid as to tell that… person… how to see Remus during the full moon?_ The third, which I consider the most important, is whether or not I can make enough coherent sound with my air passage being choked off to tell this incredible creature that I love him… before I die.

“Ah uhv hu.”

Wow, that went well. In a way where it _really_ didn’t.

The fierce amber eyes blink, and the fingers gouging into my skin loosen a bit, then one releases. The other keeps me in place.

Did he understand me?

An open hand crashes across my face and it feels like my eye is about to pop out of my head.

“I ought to kill you properly,” he snarls. He’s still holding me against the wall with one hand. I should probably be grateful, I don’t think I could stand on my own at this point. Breathing hurts.

My eyes sting. That’s not good. I’m not supposed to cry. Blacks don’t cry.

I wonder what kind of pain caused the tears, if it was physical or mental. Maybe both. I definitely hurt all over (again: walls are not fun to be smashed against), but the knowledge that he truly hates me is worse than anything my body has suffered in these last few moments.

The amber eyes boring holes into mine blink rapidly, and I think they’re glistening, but it’s hard to see through my own tears… and the fact that I think I’m developing a lovely black eye.

Time to try again.

“Rem,” I manage to force through my abused throat. “Remus… I gotta tell you… I love you.”

How stupid does that sound? Be honest with me. I can take it. No. I changed my mind. Humor me. Please. I can’t take the truth.

The amber eyes blink some more, then get closer, and, suddenly, a pair of lips is crushed against mine, and the hand has left my throat and is now tangled in my hair, and the other hand has slid between me and the wall and is creeping up under my shirt. His tongue teases my split lip and… oh, all that is holy… _where did he learn to kiss?_

And, suddenly, it’s over.

He pulls away slightly, his hands still in my hair and hot against the skin of my back.

“Never betray me again,” he whispers, voice husky.

I somehow shake my head. “Never.”

“Love me?”

“Always.”

“Love you, too.”

And he’s kissing me again, and everything else vanishes. It’s just Remus. Just the two of us.

And I realize, if you’re getting kissed by a passionate werewolf, it’s really not all that bad to do it with your back against a wall.

**End**


End file.
